Lightsabers and Knitting Needles
by Questar Siderial
Summary: A series of one-shots pertaining to Anakin's knitting hobby, and the reactions of his friends.
1. Chapter 1

Ahsoka Tano opened her eyes, her breath hitching in the unfamiliar blackness. The smell of mulch and damp moss wafted through the tent flap, and her tense muscles relaxed. No, this was right. She wasn't in the temple any more. She sat up, shivering as the brusque night air brushed against her shoulders. The camp was silent, even the high-pitched ambient sounds of the local wildlife muffled by the thick canvas of the tent.

So what had awoken her?

Climbing swiftly to her feet, she clasped her lightsaber to her belt, and lifted the tent flap to peer out. The 501st was pitched in a low valley, indigo mountains circling them on three sides. The tents spread through the flat area like a flock of strange animals, the moonless night providing barely enough light to distinguish one from another.

Except for the one tent where a light still burned. Ahsoka frowned. Her new master. Drawing on the Force to muffle her footsteps, she ducked out of her own tent. Senses on high alert, she crept forward. Someone moved in a nearby tent and she froze, the pounding of her heart loud in her forehead. After a moment, all was still again. She let out a soft breath and padded the rest of the way to Master Skywalker's tent. Arms wrapped around herself to ward off the cold, she stationed herself to one side of the entrance and listened. He was awake, all right. She could hear the rustle of his robes, the occasional cough or grunt. There was something else though, an unfamiliar clicking. She frowned, took a step closer. Suddenly his sense changed, and she jumped back just in time to avoid being seen as he pushed open the tent flap. Every beat of her heart rang in her head like a gunshot.

The Jedi peered out at the surrounding darkness. Seeming satisfied, he turned and disappeared back into the tent. The clicking resumed.

Ahsoka retreated to her bed, buzzing with questions. Was she overreacting? Was her new master hiding something?

She was roused the next morning by the raucous sounds of the 501st getting ready to break camp—quite a contrast from a peaceful morning in the temple. She found Master Skywalker wrapping up his briefing with Captain Rex. They both turned as she approached, smiling at her. "I was wondering when you'd decide to join us," the Jedi commented. "I hope you're ready to roll—you and I are heading to the nearby settlement for supplies while Rex starts moving the boys out."

"Okay," Ahsoka said distractedly.

Skywalker frowned. "Is something wrong, Snips?"

"Oh, no." She tried to force the usual cheerfulness into her voice. "When did you say we were heading out?"

"Now, if you're ready."

"Then let's go."

The trip passed uneventfully. The whir of the speeder bikes made conversation difficult, so Ahsoka was left mostly to her own thoughts. By the time they reached the settlement, she had micro-analyzed all her memories of the night before, still puzzling over what she had heard and seen.

The town in question was built around a cluster of violet pillars, homes and shops carved into the smooth stone in an ascending spiral. The shape reminded Ahsoka of some of the more 'artistic' buildings from Shili. Her master studied them for a moment, then headed for the largest one, off to the left. The variety of shops surprised Ahsoka. Beyond necessity like food and clothing, she spotted a painter selling his wares, a jewelers, and what looked like a barber shop.

Their mission, however, was more mundane in nature. Master Skywalker quickly located a food merchant with a sizable stock visible, and began enthusiastic negotiations. Ahsoka amused herself by studying the nearby stalls, while he worked his way up the pillar. After a good half-hour or so, she wandered back to where they had separated. The Jedi was nowhere in sight, although she could see a shopkeeper shouting at his assistants as they packed up the huge order. A cold thrill of panic tickled the end of her spine, but she squelched it. A moment later she spotted him emerging from another shop, a pointed package under one arm. He had stashed it under his robe by the time she made her way over to him. He smirked down at her, the familiar twinkle in his eyes. "You ready to go? They're loading up the supplies for us."

"...sure," she said slowly, trying not to stare at the lump where she knew the package was hidden.

"Great, let's get moving."

That night, Ahsoka sat cross-legged in her tent, thoughts snarled around her master. Who was she to pry into his private business? If it was important, he would tell her. At the same time, masters and padawans were supposed to trust each other, weren't they?

Softly, she rose to her feet, venturing out into the cool night air. She wrapped her arms around herself as a breeze whispered past. The light was on in her master's tent again, and the clicking noise was back. She hesitated outside the flap. The last thing she wanted to do was destroy what little of his esteem she'd managed to earn. Squeezing her eyes shut, she coughed.

The clicking stopped, and she heard footsteps. A moment later, Master Skywalker opened the tent flap, frowning down at her. "Ahsoka? What's wrong?"

"Master," she blurted out before her nerves could get the better of her, "why are you keeping secrets from me?"

He blinked at her in confusion. She thought she sensed fear, although that might have been nothing more than her own paranoia. "Secrets?" he managed.

"At the market, today. You tried to hide a package from me. And I keep hearing this weird noise coming from your tent." She bit her lip. "What's going on?"

To her complete and utter surprise, the Jedi burst out laughing. Complaining moans rose from the surrounding tents, and he put a hand over his mouth, crisp blue eyes still smiling. "Is that what's been bothering you the last few days?" Shaking his head, he held the tent flap open wider. "Come on in."

Ahsoka did as she was told, eyes lighting on a tangled lump in the corner. Master Skywalker held it up for her to examine. "What is it?" she asked, tilting her head to study it from another angle. The mass looked rather like cloth, but bits of it were wrapped around little metal sticks, or unraveled into a ball of thick string rolled up in the corner.

"It's knitting." The Jedi regarded it with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. "It helps me unwind. I spotted a craft shop while the fuel merchant was finishing our order, and picked up some new needles." He gestured to the metal sticks.

Ahsoka frowned. "I... guess that makes sense?" She'd never heard of 'knitting' before, but— "What are you making?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Well, you aren't really dressed for this climate." He glanced skeptically at her tube top. "I thought I might make you a poncho." He held up the far end, which Ahsoka now realized formed a little hood, complete with points for her montrals. Now he definitely looked embarrassed. "If you don't want it—"

"I love it!" She meant it, too. "No one's ever made anything like this for me before." She glanced aside, face heating. "Sorry for not trusting you."

His hand patted her shoulder, a bit awkwardly. "All in good time, my padawan."

"Is there any chance this 'good time' could wait until morning?" Captain Rex's asked, the tent barely muffling his irritation.

The laughter of the two Jedi called up another chorus of groans from the tents.


	2. Chapter 2

It was charming, Obi-wan decided, holding the neatly-knitted Jedi robe in front of him for examination, but not practical. Anakin had that anxious, needy look about him again, and the bearded Jedi decided not to encourage him. "Yes, well, I'm sure I'll be able to use this for something, Anakin. Thank you." He smiled to take the sting out of the words.

"Sure." Anakin turned away, grinning to cover up his disappointment. It pained Obi-wan to crush his spirits like that, but the young man needed to learn to control his emotions, and this was the only method his former master was aware of. "Anyway," Anakin retorted, turning back, "it'll keep you warm on Kelzen Prime. You might get so caught up admiring the scenery you'd forget your nose was freezing off. When are you leaving?"

Obi-wan folded the robe, and tucked it under his arm. "Anakin, we're not _landing_ on Kelzen. We're merely escorting a diplomatic shuttle past the planet. Apparently there's been some trouble with pirates. Not Hondo's bunch," he added quickly, catching Anakin's concerned-amused eyebrow lift. "Thank goodness for that. As for when I'm leaving—" He glanced over his friend's shoulder. "Well, here's Cody now."

The commander presented both Jedi a smart salute. "Ready when you are, sir."

"I'm ready." Obi-wan clapped a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

Anakin chuckled. "What would be the fun in that?"

Obi-wan sighed, but allowed himself a smile. "What indeed?"

Flights certainly were less... _exciting_ without Anakin on board, the red-bearded Jedi had to admit. He cradled a cup of sapir tea in his hands, watching the stars streak by outside the viewport. Beside him, Cody was poring over star charts.

The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "We should be coming up on Kelzen Prime now, General. Just off the left side, if you want to get a look as we pass."

"Thank you, Bludgeon." Obi-wan straightened, feeling stiff muscles stretch after remaining seated for so long. He strode to the viewport the clone had indicated, and stood looking out. As promised, a marbled white globe hung suspended among the smaller points of light.

Cody moved to stand beside his general. "Ever been there, sir?"

The Jedi shook his head. "I hope to someday. The zoologists who visit say its one of the most beautiful planets in the galaxy at night. Perhaps when the war is over—"

He broke off as the ship gave a sudden jolt. There was a screech as the intercom flicked back on. "We're under attack! Battle stations, everyone."

Regaining his balance, Cody raced to the viewports on the other side. He cursed. "Pirates."

Obi-wan brushed the spilled tea from the front of his robe. "That _is_ what we're here for. How many?"

Cody turned, and keyed in a quick sequence on the wall panel. "Fourteen. Coming in hot."

"Fourteen?" Obi-wan frowned. "A bit more than we were expecting. Are we equipped to handle fourteen?"

"Normally I'd say yes, sir. But the shuttle isn't." Cody cursed, flicking open the channel to the gunwells. "Concentrate your fire on the rear fighters. Don't let them target the other ship."

"Always an adventure." The Jedi set his cup of tea on his seat. "Bludgeon, position us between the shuttle and the pirates. And full power to shields."

"Yes, sir." There was a subtle shift in gravity as the ship moved onto its new course.

Obi-wan heard the staccato screech as their turrets fired the first volley. He watched as one of the pirate vessels exploded in a cloud of green gas. An answering series of shots rocked the Republic ship on its axis. Obi-wan took a wider stance, and steadied himself against the wall.

"General."

He turned, sensing the tension in his commander's voice. "What is it, Cody?"

The clone glanced up from his panel, face grim. "They've hit the fuel lines. We've got a leak."

"How bad is it?" Cody's face gave him his answer. "All right. Can we get the shuttle to safety?"

"I think so, sir." He keyed another sequence. "If we engage fully with the pirates, it should give them enough time to escape."

"Then that's what we'll do. Bludgeon?"

"Here, sir." The pilot's voice sounded strained.

"Make sure we are engaging all of the pirates. I want all their fire fixed on us, understood?"

"Understood, sir."

Obi-wan glanced out the left viewport, a tired smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "It looks like I won't have to wait until the war ends to see Kelzen Prime."

The crash was more like a controlled fall, but the impact with the planet's surface still sent a jolt through the ship, a jolt that knocked consoles and crates loose, and set the floor at an awkward slope. When at last the ship lay still, Obi-wan allowed himself to look around. Supplies and twisted bits of metal lay scattered across the floor, turning the once-smooth surface into a convoluted jungle. The crash had knocked out the power, so the only light came from a long gash splitting the cabin on the left side, large enough for a man to crawl through. Obi-wan gingerly rose to his feet. "Cody, are you all right?" Although he could not see the commander, he heard the scraping of metal as someone stirred. Picking his way carefully through the debris, he spotted the clone, wedged between a the wall and the battered pieces of his console. Drawing on the Force, Obi-wan curled the metal and wires away from his commander. The clone slumped to the ground, groaning. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek where the console had nicked him. Obi-wan extended a hand. "Are you all right, Commander?"

Cody blinked groggily, but accepted the proffered hand, pulling himself upright with a grimace. "I... think so, sir. What happened?"

Obi-wan glanced around. A cold wind whistled through the split in the cabin. "We seem to have landed."

Cody rubbed the back of his head, wincing. "The shuttle?"

"Safely away. They will no doubt transmit a distress call to the nearest Republic base, so we need only wait for rescue."

"...Right," Cody said slowly.

Obi-wan frowned. "Are you certain you're unharmed?"

The clone pulled himself upright. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Just a little shaken from the crash."

Obi-wan nodded. "All right. Let's see if we can't locate the rest of the troops."

This was easier said than done. Of the eight other clones who'd crewed the ship, four were trapped behind doors that now refused to budge, and debris had trapped two more in their gunwells. By the time Obi-wan and Cody had strained and Force-leveraged them to freedom, the temperature in the cabin had dropped significantly. The results, however, were encouraging—other than Waxer, who had injured his arm, they were unhurt.

Cody bent over Waxer, who pulled off his helmet with his good hand. The trooper cracked a forced smile as Obi-wan joined them. "Looks like we've landed on a pretty place, General." He nodded to his friend, who was hovering anxiously at his shoulder. "How about getting Boil here to take a look? His breath on the back of my neck is making me nervous." At his side, Cody adjusted his arm, and the movement pulled Waxer's smile into a momentary grimace.

Boil's frown deepened. "I'm not leaving you, idiot," he muttered. "You might break your other arm."

Waxer rolled his eyes, but the glance he gave Boil was affectionate. "The commander'll take good care of me."

Obi-wan smiled. "I'm sure there's no doubt of that." He knelt beside Cody, turning his attention to the commander's ministrations. "Is Boil right? Is it broken?" No response. The Jedi's forehead creased. "Cody?"

The commander stirred, and with some effort shifted his gaze. "...Yes, General?"

He swayed, and Obi-wan put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Cody, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine," the clone repeated numbly, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Are you in pain?"

Releasing Waxer's arm, the commander rubbed the back of his neck. "Must've... hit my head."

Obi-wan frowned. Placing one hand under Cody's chin, he peered into the clone's eyes. "Does anyone have a light?"

"I do," Boil offered. He held out a torch to Obi-wan, who took it with a nod of thanks. He flicked it on, and directed the beam at Cody's face. The commander flinched and squinted. "Cody." Obi-wan made the word as precise as he could. "Do you know where we are?"

The clone allowed Obi-wan to force his eyes fully open, one after the other. "Where?"

"Yes." Obi-wan deactivated the torch. "What planet are we on?"

Cody frowned, and Obi-wan could see the gears struggling to turn. "No, sir." A hint of fear appeared in his eyes.

The Jedi sat back on his heels, and handed the torch to Boil. "I thought so. You have a concussion." He glanced up. "Boil, can you take care of Waxer?" The clone nodded. "Good." He glanced at Cody, who was watching him with a mix of confusion and fear.

"What about me?" The commander asked.

Obi-wan gently pressured his friend's shoulders, turning him back so he was leaning against the wall. "Rest. I don't think it's too serious. Relief should be here before too long, in any case." Straightening, he glanced at the gash in the hull. The wind had increased, driving little sheets of snow into the ship. "Let's hope they make it before nightfall." The words jogged a memory, and a sudden smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "I think I actually came prepared for this situation." Picking his way back over to the mangled remains of his seat, he reached underneath it. Sure enough, the robe Anakin had knitted him was still there, its neat folds in disarray. Untangling it, he returned to his commander, and draped the garment over him. Cody tried to protest, but Obi-wan ignored him, turning back towards the rip in the ship's side. "Bludgeon, see if you can block that opening off. We want to conserve as much heat as possible."

"Yes, sir."

As the clone began recruiting his comrades, and gathering up useful bits of debris, Obi-wan stuck his head out of the opening. The icy wind whipping past his face made it nearly impossible to see anything, but he could just make out a gentle swell of land to his right. Still, a hill was something he could see on countless planets around the galaxy. "Perhaps," he sighed, "one should come sightseeing in better weather." He stepped back, allowing his men to begin piling boxes and chairs up against the opening.

Waxer clambered awkwardly to his feet, one arm now tied in a makeshift sling. Obi-wan shot Boil a questioning glance. "Broken," the clone confirmed. "Not bad, though."

Waxer grinned, saluting with his good arm. "Still, I'll skip the hauling duty if you don't mind, General."

"I don't." Obi-wan returned the smile.

"About that hauling, sir."

The Jedi's smile faded at the too-calm tone of Bludgeon's interjection. In the corner, he saw Cody struggle upright, the blood draining from the commander's face. Slowly, Obi-wan turned. A long, thickly-furred paw was wedged in the opening. It flexed, revealing claws half a meter long. The paw itself was as large as a man, dappled with gold and violet. "Ah." Obi-wan took a step back, motioning for the others to do likewise. "I had almost forgotten. Cody." He kept his voice intentionally conversational. "Do you know why Kelzen was initially explored by zoologists. It's home to one of the largest known species of feline. We have the dubious privilege of observing a wild Kell-cat."

"Forgive me, General," Cody grunted, nearly thrown off his feet as the creature batted at the ship, "if I'm not enthusiastic."

"What's it doing?" Waxer grabbed Boil's shoulder for support as the ship shook again.

"Oh, they're intensely curious creatures." Obi-wan stroked his beard. "It probably sees us as a new plaything."

Boil's eyebrows drew together. "Like a Tooka with a Nuna."

"Or a ball of yarn," Waxer offered.

Obi-wan's eyes lit up. "Precisely." Eyeing the paw, which was once again feeling around inside the gap, he edged to the far forward end of the cabin. Boil frowned in confusion, but a wide grin split Waxer's face. Now standing at the tip of the gash, as far from the grasping claws as he could manage, Obi-wan stripped off his robe. He smiled wryly at the knitted cloth in his hands. "How am I going to explain this to Anakin?" He flattened his palms, and the garment levitated out through the crack.

The kneading paw paused, and they heard a sound that, if it had not been so chest-hummingly deep, might have passed for a mew. The ship jolted backwards, and Obi-wan got a quick glimpse of a massive creature padding after the disappearing robe, tufted head cocked to one side, before both were lost in the snowy landscape.

The Jedi turned, dusting his hands together. "Well, gentlemen, it appears the crisis has been averted." A fresh gust of wind blew through the opening, and he restrained a shiver. "Let's get that blocked before something worse comes along. It's going to get cold."

Obi-wan's eyelashes were heavy with frost by the time he heard the whine of a transport. He blinked heavily, thoughts sluggish and jumbled in the darkness. His men were huddled in the opposite corner, pressed together for warmth, and now stirring groggily as they too picked up the noise. There were shouts outside, and then a harsh clang as the makeshift barrier was pushed aside. A bright light nearly blinded Obi-wan, who lifted a stiff hand to shield his eyes.

A hand was around his waist, hoisting him to his feet, and the warm, husky voice of Plo Koon was saying reassuring things he couldn't quite make out. A vague stream of gray-and-white shapes moved towards the men of the 212th.

"...Cody," Obi-wan managed to gasp.

The Kel Dor said something soothing, and paused long enough to give instructions to one of his men. That done, he lifted Obi-wan through the opening and out into the frigid air. Even in his half-frozen state, the younger Jedi's eyes widened as they took in the transformed landscape. Night and fallen and the wind had died, revealing a planet he could not even recognize. The hills he had just been able to make out in the storm rolled around him like the crests and rivulets of a fossilized ocean. Beneath the surface of the snow, glowing veins of amber and turquoise laced the landscape, a brilliant light show against the deep purple of the sky. Plo was speaking again, and this time he caught a few of the words. Something about "lost your robe again." Obi-wan smiled, feeling his lips crack in the cold. He would have a lot to tell Anakin.


	3. Chapter 3

Ahsoka retracted her shoto and stretched, catlike, her yawn revealing a set of fangs. Working the kinks out of her shoulders, she walked to the edge of the plateau and looked out on the network of canyons below.

"Nice work, Comander." She turned, smiling as she recognized the voice.

"Thanks, Rex. Turns out, this whole two-lightsaber thing is harder than it looks."

"I don't doubt it." He came to stand next to her. "I remember learning to dual-weild my DC-17's. For two weeks I could hardly hit anything."

They stood like that for several minutes, looking down at the rivers far below them, comfortable in each other's presence. Finally, Rex stirred. "Well, I'd better go make sure Hardcase isn't terrorizing the shinies again."

Ahsoka chuckled. "Yes, you'd better. I heard some stories from the last batch."

"Good luck with your training, Commander."

"Thanks." She watched, smiling, until he disappeared from sight. Still smiling, she re-extended her saber and adopted a defensive posture. After running through her forms a few times, she sheathed to shoto with a huff of satisfaction. Wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, she went in search of Anakin.

The Jedi Knight was seated with his back against a transport shuttle, studying a datapad. He looked up as Ahsoka approached. "Hey, Snips. Finished training?"

She sat down next to him. "For now. I honestly didn't think it would take this long to learn." Leaning over, she peeked at the datapad in his hands. "What are you doing?"

"Looking over the personnel files for the new recruits." He passed her the tablet.

Her eyebrows quirked. "Featherhead, Tup, Dogma... everyone's in here."

"Wouldn't be much good if they weren't. The whole division's listed. Medical records, military service, batch date, you name it."

She glanced up at him, the familiar light of curiosity in here eyes. "Am I in here?"

"Sure." Anakin leaned over and tapped the screen, bringing up the top of the list. _Skywalker, Anakin._ And just beneath that, _Tano, Ahsoka._

Pursing her lips, Ahsoka selected the entry, and instantly a full-page bio filled the screen. She studied it intently. "Height, weight... do they really need that? Mild allergy to B-52..." Her gaze drifted down to the bottom of the page previewing the next entry on the list, and her eyes widened. "Oh no."

"What is it?" Anakin tensed, sensing the shift in her tone.

She turned her face up to him, forehead creased with distress. "Rex's birthday is tomorrow!"

"Ahsoka, it's not that big a deal. Rex was removed from the growth tube—"

"It's the day he was _born."_ The padawan paced back and forth, wearing a shallow furrow in the ground in front of her master. "And it is a big deal. Tomorrow is his twelfth birthday and I don't have anything to give him. There aren't even any outposts nearby where I could trade for something." She stopped, rubbing her chin for a moment (an unconscious gesture she'd picked up from Obi-wan). "Can you teach me how to knit?"

"What?" Anakin held up his hands defensively. "Now? Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight!" She glanced at the sky, where the first sun had begun sinking below the horizon. "Can we start now?"

He hesitated, uncertainty and eagerness battling on his face. "I... guess the personnel files can wait."

Ahsoka grinned and pulled him to his feet. "Let's get started."

Once in his tent, Anakin dug through his pack and produced a pair of knitting needles. He set them on the ground, and put three skeins of yarn next to them. "What do you want to make?"

Ahsoka considered. "What about a poncho, like you made me?"

Her master frowned. "A little ambitious for your first project—especially given the time constraints. Maybe a scarf?"

"Okay." She fell into a sitting position, legs crossed, and picked up one of the needles, testing the pointy end on her finger. It wasn't that sharp.

Her attention returned to Anakin as he gestured at the yarn. "What color do you want?" Blue, green, or pink. "I'm making something for Padme," he interjected, following her gaze.

She smirked, but reached for the blue yarn. She had only caught glimpses of Anakin working on his projects, but it couldn't be _that_ hard. Biting her lip, she unwound a bit of the yarn, and tried to wrap it around her needle. It unwound as she twisted it. She frowned, and glanced up at her master, blushing. "How do I start?"

He handed her the other needle. "For starters, you need this."

…

Ahsoka stirred, blinking lazily as beams of light streamed across her ace. Anakin's toe nudged her in the stomach. "All right, Snips, rise and shine."

She struggled upright, glancing around. She didn't remember walking back to her tent. "Hm? What time is it?"

"Almost noon." He smirked. "And before you ask, I carried you back here. Apparently Rex found you snoozing on the ground by the medical supplies."

Rex. Ahsoka scrabbled around the floor in sudden panic.

"Here it is." A bit of blue fluttered down to her. She snatched it, holding it up to the light. Seeing it with the eyes of day...

"Not bad for your first try," Anakin commented, a note of pride in his voice.

Ahsoka scrunched up her nose. "Really?" The stubby handiwork had holes in it, and uneven tightness of stitches made it curl in on itself slightly. It looked more like a piece of second-rate abstract art than a scarf.

"Sure. It takes time to learn, just like anything else. Everyone has to start somewhere."

She sighed. "Maybe he won't have anything to compare it to?"

"Only one way to find out." Her master stepped aside, letting her out of the tent. She stood, stretching her legs as she stepped out into the bright sunlight of the plateau. The scarf she rolled up and stuck into her belt.

Rex was on the west edge of the camp, busy in conference with Kix. Ahsoka waved at him as she drew nearer, and saw him dismiss the medic. He strode to meet her. "Good morning, Commander."

"Barely." She squinted at the sun, which was almost straight above them.

"Yeah, you were pretty out of it last night." He grinned.

"So I've been told." She fidgeted with her gloves. "About that..."

"With all due respect, sir, I've found General Skywalker in stranger places." He shrugged. "There's no need to be embarrassed."

"It isn't that." She yanked the scarf out of her belt. "I heard today was your birthday, and well..." She thrust it towards him. "Here."

He blinked in confusion. "Ah, thank you, Commander, but it's really not necessary." He took the scarf gingerly in one hand, rubbing the back of his neck with the other. "If you don't mind me asking, er, what is it?"

Ahsoka's face fell. "That bad, huh? Fun fact—knitting takes practice."

"What doesn't?" Apparently determining that the lump was indeed a scarf, Rex unrolled it, and wrapped it around his neck. He handled the lopsided garment as if it might tear at any moment. Ahsoka saw, to her chagrin, that the scarf was barely long enough to knot. She sighed, telling herself she wasn't disappointed. Rex looked down at her, and suddenly snapped into a horrified apology. "I didn't mean it like that, Commander. You caught me by surprise, is all. To tell you the truth, I didn't even know it was—"

"It's okay, Rex." He lapsed into silence, his pained expression clearly indicating regret for his apparent lack of enthusiasm. The Togruta shook her head. "I just... wanted you to know I appreciate you. Anakin knitted something for me when I first joined the 501st, so I thought... I don't know." She laughed ruefully. "I don't think knitting is a skill I'll be pursuing further."

Rex shifted from one foot to the other, glancing at her with an awkward earnestness that was painfully endearing. "I am very grateful to be assigned to both you and General Skywalker. I know for a fact that I have the best commanding officers in the GAR."

Ahsoka laughed in spite of herself. "Don't tell Anakin. He doesn't need the encouragement." The captain chuckled, some of their awkwardness dissipating "I'm glad to have you by my side, Rexer."

He returned her smile, tugging the tiny, misshapen scarf tighter around his neck. "Same to you, little'un."


	4. Chapter 4

"Package for you, Supreme Chancellor."

Sheev Palpatine swiveled slowly in his chair until he could see the messenger. The man shifted nervously from one foot to the other, dwarfed by the Coruscant guards flanking him on either side. Taking a cautious step forward, he slid the package onto the long black desk.

Palpatine nodded to the guards. "That will be all, gentlemen." The clones saluted, ushering the delivery man out of the office. The door slid shut, and the Chancellor was left alone. He pulled the package towards himself, spindly fingers keying the release code. The lid of the box popped open, revealing its contents to the Chancellor's eager eyes. His hungry gaze faded away, a frown taking its place. He lifted a knitted hat from the package, pinching it between thumb and forefinger. This again. The highly analytical mind of Sheev Palpatine kicked into high gear. Apart from his own personal distaste for the items, there were two other factors to consider. The first was Anakin Skywalker—these gifts were a sign of attachment, which was good, and by keeping and wearing them, he would be able to strengthen the boy's ties to him. However—and this was the second point—he would look ridiculous. Anakin was not the only piece in his game. If the long-term plan was to succeed, he needed the support and respect of the entire Republic. A floppy-eared hat would not further that goal.

Steepling his fingers, he contemplated the problem. There would be other opportunities to win the boy. Anakin was so eager to belong to someone— _anyone—_ that Sheev had to work to ensure the young Jedi did not become too dependent, too soon. Fortunately, this war served as an excellent distraction for the Jedi Order, as the peacekeepers waged their war.

A buzz from the door interrupted his thoughts. Stowing the box neatly under his desk, he pressed the intercom, drizzling his voice with a smile. "Come in."

Commander Fox stood at attention in the doorway. "You asked for my report in person, sir."

"Yes, right on time, Commander." Palpatine watched the clone as Fox strode nearer, coming once again to attention. "At ease, and deliver your report."

Fox relaxed almost imperceptibly. "Well, sir, my men have a lead on the holo-robbery from last night. We should have whoever is behind it within the day. A warehouse fire has broken out on the lower levels..."

Sheev leaned forward attentively, but his focus was on the straight-backed commander in front of him, rather than the efficient report being delivered. Here was a project he'd been working on for a while, with great success. He nodded thoughtfully as Fox concluded. "Any news from your friend Captain Rex?"

Fox stiffened. Palpatine never tapped into the Force in such close proximity to the Temple, but he could read the tension in the clone''s posture. "I was not aware the 501st had returned to Coruscant."

The chancellor's thoughts flickered to the package under his desk. "I have it on good authority that they have. But you seem tense, Commander. Is there a conflict between yourself and Captain Rex? Perhaps I can help."

"It's nothing, sir. We have... differing opinions, is all."

"I understand." The fatherly tone was one of the greatest weapons in the Chancellor's arsenal. "Captain Rex is a good _soldier_." The inflection on the last word pressed another chink to Fox's tattered armor. Soldiers, Palpatine had taught him almost imperceptibly to believe, were generally good sorts, but lacking in vision. They didn't see the big picture. That poisonous mindset—being 'in the know'—had netted him several of his most loyal followers. "Thank you for your report, Commander. You are dismissed." The clone bowed his head slightly and exited the room.

Palpatine frowned down at the box. Why did people appreciate such knickknacks? Even as a younger man, he had never understood the significance. He switched on his HoloNet feed, searching for inspiration. A scandal, the fire Fox had mentioned, an interview with a holovid star. He clicked it off just as the buzzer sounded again. "Come."

Captain Tarkin strode into the office and offered a starched salute. "You asked to see me, Chancellor?"

Palpatine nodded, his attention diverted by a flaw in the captain's otherwise-impeccable appearance. "May I ask what is on your feet, Captain?"

Tarkin stepped obediently backwards, so the Chancellor could examine his footwear. Sure enough, rather than the usual knee-high black boots, the captain sported a pair of gray knitted slippers.

"My boots don't fit," Tarkin supplied. "General Skywalker provided these."

Palpatine frowned. Tarkin could wear such outlandish articles of clothing without kickback. But, of course, the man's position came from power, pure and simple. There was a strength of control, a self-possession and unflinching tactical savvy that Tarkin exuded. He was not dependent on the whims of politicians. Palpatine pushed away his own half-formed jealousy, focusing instead on the task at hand. "I would like to you to lead the attack on the Agrexit system. You have ten hours before departure."

Tarkin nodded. No questions, no thanks or concerns, but Palpatine had no doubt the operation would be a success. The man was a razor.

"Is that all?" Tarkin prompted.

"Yes, Captain, thank you." The Chancellor watched him go, gaze once again drawn to the man's slippers. When the door closed, he pulled out the box, staring down at its contents with frustration. How was Anakin simultaneously the easiest and most difficult man on Coruscant to control? He sighed. There were more knitted items in this box than one person could ever hope to use. He turned to the Holonet again, skimming the headlines. The fire had now spread to a nearby orphanage.

Sheev almost scrolled past the article, but a thought clicked in his mind, and he selected it instead. The orphans, it appeared, had been evacuated, but the building and much of its contents would probably be lost.

A real smile stretched the mouth uncannily thin. The door buzzed again. "Come," Palpatine ordered, not bothering to stow the box. "Ah, Anakin, just the man I wanted to see. I have a proposition for you..."


	5. Chapter 5

Ahsoka waited outside the opera house, lekku twitching nervously. Where was Barriss? The program would be starting any—there. She caught sight of her friend, and wound her way through the crowd to her side.

Barriss's face relaxed. "There you are. Am I late?"

"Not quite." Ahsoka smiled, glancing at her friend's outfit. "You look nice." The other girl had traded her usual dress for a more festive raspberry-purple one. Her hair was tied up in an intricately-knotted scarf that fell to one side of her face.

Barriss blushed. "Master Luminara picked it out for me."

"Really? Anakin made mine. He has a meeting at the temple tonight, but he managed to finish it in time." Ahsoka turned so her friend could get a better view of the outfit. "What do you think?"

"Ah, yes. I was... going to ask about that."

Ahsoka looked down at the costume, brow furrowing. To be honest, she hadn't really done that much. She still wore her usual red tights, but had replaced her top with a white tank, and her red gloves with white ones that extended just below her wrists. The crowning glory, however, and the reason she considered this formal wear, was the poncho. Patterns of russet and navy stripes chased each other across the front, transitioning into a complicated series of knots on either side. A gold fringe set the design off, and the entire knitted garment had the air of something that might have been discovered by a particularly unlucky archaeologist. "You don't like it."

"It looks very... cozy." Barriss twisted her hands.

Anakin had spent an entire mission working on the poncho. "I think it's great." Ahsoka gave herself an approving nod. "They're good colors for me."

"Well, you're the one wearing it," Barriss agreed quickly. "Your opinion is really what matters."

"It is." Ahsoka wiped the palms of her hands on the garment. "Let's go. We don't want to miss the opening number."

The opera house was an impressive edifice, tall even by Coruscant standards. Its architecture brought together several different styles, with tall curling pillars, elaborately inscribed designs, and a roof twice as wide as the floor. The whole building was brilliantly lit, and a board above the entrance displayed shows and times. The two girls made their way through the queue, where a copper protocol droid stood. Ahsoka held out her I.D. "Two seats for Ahsoka Tano?"

Barely acknowledging them, the droid scanned the I.D. "Eighteenth row, center aisle..." His voice trailed off as his mechanical gaze locked on Ahsoka's poncho. "I'm sorry, miss, but we have a strict dress code. Formal attire only."

Ahsoka snatched her I.D. back, a bubble of anger forming in her stomach. Anakin's poncho was _great._ "This is formal attire," she explained, pocketing her card. "My master—"

"It's clearly handmade." The droid keyed something on his scanner. "If you brought something more appropriate with you, I would be happy to admit you. Otherwise, your tickets can be refunded or transferred to another night."

The opening strains of music floated out from the theater. Ahsoka glanced past the droid, trying to get a glimpse of the goings-on inside. "This... is formal wear for me." It was true. The Jedi had access to a fairly limited wardrobe, and she was _not_ going to reprise her Zygerrian slave outfit.

"Miss, I am extensively programmed in the formal wear of millions of cultures, and that—" He pointed at her poncho. "—is not from any of them. You may change, or leave. Either way, I must ask that you stop holding up the line."

Ahsoka felt Barriss's hand on her shoulder. "Let's just go," the other girl whispered.

The Togruta sensed her friend's distress. She let out a slow breath. "All right." They left the line, and wandered off into a side street. Ahsoka massaged the palm of her left hand, trying to release her anger. A sick feeling coiled in the pit of her stomach. "I'm sorry, Barriss." She didn't meet her friend's gaze. "So much for our night at the opera."

"We can go some other time." The Mirialan pulled the tail of her scarf around her shoulders. "I'm sorry he didn't like your outfit. I... think it's fun."

It was fun, Ahsoka decided, catching a glimpse of herself in a shop window. No matter what that protocol droid said, Anakin had exactly captured his young padawan's sense of style. Suddenly she had an idea. "I have a few credits. Our plans are ruined, but that doesn't mean our night has to be."

An hour later saw the two of them seated on the roof of a bakery, legs dangling as they showered crumbs down on the passersby. Ahsoka took a bite of her meat pie, wiping her mouth on the no-longer-white glove. She glanced over at Barriss, who was nibbling on a croissant. "Good?"

The girl swallowed. "Good."

Setting the remains of her pastry in her lap, Ahsoka stretched, leaning back against the warm roof. She folded her hands behind her head, staring up at the thousands of ship-lights dotting the sky. "How many systems do you think are really out there?"

She felt Barriss shrug. "There must be countless. In the Republic alone, there..."

Ahsoka turned her head to see the other girl staring down the darkened street, her sense suddenly prickling with tension. "What's wrong?"

Barriss shook her head, but didn't take her gaze off the alleyway. "Oh, nothing. I thought I saw something."

Ahsoka sat back up. "What?"

"I thought..." She hesitated. "It looked like a man being pulled into that alley—but it could have been just a trick of the light."

Stuffing the remainder of her meat pie into her mouth, Ahsoka hopped off the roof. She swallowed with some effort. "Only one way to find out." Barriss landed silently behind her. Together, the two girls crept towards the alleyway. Ahsoka paused just before the entrance, closing her eyes and reaching out with the Force. After a moment, she opened them and waved Barriss closer. "I sense two in there," she whispered. "I can't tell quite what's going on, but I do know that they aren't happy."

The Mirialan bit her lip. "Maybe we shouldn't interfere. It's none of our business, and if anything illegal is actually happening, the police—" But Ahsoka already had one unignited lightsaber in hand, and was moving forward.

Rounding the corner, the Togruta flattened herself against the wall. Running through her hearing-enhancement routines, she inched down the alleyway. There were three figures, she could now see. They were too far away to make out the species of the farthest two, but the nearest had the unmistakable, burly silhouette of a Besalisk. She could just hear his words now, and they were not pleasant ones.

"Listen, tinny, I'll make this real simple for ya. Tell us where they keep the credits, and we'll let you go. No muss, no fuss, see?"

The farthest figure was a droid, then. That would explain why she hadn't sensed him. She did another quick scan of her surroundings. No, no one else in the alley but the two in front and one behind—Barriss was keeping so far back that Ahsoka could hardly sense her presence, let alone her thoughts. That was fine. The Togruta could handle this alone, and call on her for backup if need be.

Now the second bandit was speaking. Her voice had a smooth, textured edge, and as she stepped towards the droid the silhouette of her head pulsated and shifted. Probably a Nautilan, Ahsoka decided. "Listen to what the man is saying, T3. We don't want to hurt you. Just tell us where the credits are, and you're free to go."

"Cowardice is not in my programming," the droid protested. With a shock, Ahsoka recognized the clipped tones. It was the ticket taker from earlier. She shrank further into the shadow. "This whole situation is unheard of," the droid continued. "Mali Ruun, you are an employee of the opera house."

"That's true." A blaster cocked. "Does that bear somehow on our current situation?"

This had gone far enough. Ahsoka stepped out of the shadows. "Hello over there."

The two bandits turned, the Besalisk drawing three blasters. His free hand curled into a fist. "Who's there?"

The Nautolan cocked her head, dark eyes taking in the dim light. "It's just a girl," she muttered. "Don't lose your head."

"Mal, she might be a Jedi or something."

"I don't think so. Besides, look at the way she's dressed. That, if nothing else, suggests a lower class." The woman raised her voice. "Are you lost, my friend? Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Friend! Well I—" The protocol droid cut off suddenly, and Ahsoka caught the subtle movement as the Besalisk turned one of his blasters in its direction. She had to give the ticket taker points for courage—but if it wasn't careful, it was going to end up scattered all over the alleyway.

She took a step forward, acutely aware of the weapons still pointed at her. At least none of them seemed to have noticed Barriss. She sensed the patter of footsteps behind her stop, as her friend no doubt dissolved into the shadows. "Actually, I'm interested in refunding some opera tickets, and I was wondering if your droid could help me out."

The Besalisk growled. "What do we look like? Ask at the opera house."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Ahsoka took another step forward, her finger hovering on the switch of her lightsaber. "I thought—"

"That's far enough." The new voice startled Ahsoka, and before she could react she found her hands pinned behind her back. "Pretty lightsaber. Jedi brat, eh?"

The Besalisk stiffened. "I told you she might be a Jedi."

"Kindly stop speaking, Zegg." Mali stepped forward, still keeping her blaster trained on Ahsoka. "What's a padawan doing all alone at this time of night?"

All alone? Ahsoka suddenly realized she couldn't sense Barriss. The other presence she'd felt was still there—but now he had her wrists clenched in his hands. How long had her friend been gone? The man behind her took the lightsaber from her unresistant hand, and clipped it on his belt. Her shoto still hung at her side, concealed by the poncho.

"What do we do now?" The Besalisk shifted uncomfortably. "We can't wiper her memory like a droid's."

Concentrating hard, Ahsoka used the Force to detach the shoto from its place.

"We can't kill her," Mali mused, tentacles rippling. "Killing a Jedi is a serious crime, much worse than robbing a theater."

The saber hilt floated down until it was nearly free of the poncho's concealment.

"I say we give her a quick one to the side of her head." The man behind her leaned forward, foul breath hot on her cheek. "She won't remember when she wakes up, will you my little—" He broke off with a yelp, as the yellow-green blade ignited beside him.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Ahsoka twisted free, dropping to all fours as a series of shots zipped over her head. She swept her legs under the man who had caught her—a grim-faced human—snatching her lightsaber from his belt as he fell. A blade in each hand, she sprang upright, deflecting the next round of blaster bolts. Crouching, she sprinted towards the nearest building, kicking off of it and somersaulting over her assailants, landing between them and the droid. "I'm only giving you one chance," she warned. "Leave. Now."

The human leered. "There are three of us, and one of you. Looks like you're outnumbered."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." The three bandits whirled at the sound of the new voice. Anakin Skywalker stepped out of the shadows. "Nice night for a stroll, don't you think? What seems to be the problem?"

The Nautolan blanched. "We were just about to leave."

Ahsoka saw the Besalisk's hand tighten just in time. In one fluid motion, she whipped off the poncho, flinging it over the man's head. His shots went wide, and Anakin's lightsaber flickered out as the Jedi sprang into a defensive stance.

Ahsoka put her foot in the Besalisk's knee, forcing him to the ground. Anakin turned back to Mali, smiling dangerously. Eyes on his lightsaber, the woman laid down her weapon. The scarred man did the same.

Barriss appeared behind Anakin, and rushed over to Ahsoka. "Are you all right? When I saw that man sneaking up behind you, I went to get help."

Ahsoka bent down and disarmed Zegg. She smiled at her friend, handing her the weapons. "Thanks, Barriss."

Anakin shot a glance at the human, who glared poisonously back at him. There was a smile in his voice. "Now Snips, you're supposed to let _me_ do the saving."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Then you'll have to keep up."

He wagged a finger. "I'm the one who taught you, remember."

"Is that why I'm so good?"

"Probably." He cuffed the other two brigands together. "I thought you and Barriss were going to the opera tonight."

Ahsoka glanced over her shoulder at the protocol droid. Now that his assailants were incapacitated, he'd taken a few steps forward. "That was the plan."

The droid made a funny, synthesized sound, that might almost past for clearing its throat. "About that. I believe our dress code is due for an overhaul anyway."

Ahsoka glanced at Barriss, who smiled. "Do you have any seats available tomorrow?"

"I do, as a matter of fact."

"Good." Ahsoka unwound her poncho from around Zegg's head, donning it again. She caught a distressed sound from her friend and glanced down. A long rent tore across the garment, showing her white undershirt.

"Oh dear." Barriss's voice was a mixture of sympathy and relief. "I know you really liked that poncho."

Ahsoka looked up at Anakin, a question in her eyes. "I can fix it," he promised, smiling. "Maybe by tomorrow if you let me have it now."

The Togruta grinned, showing her fangs. "You'd better. I want to look my best for the opera, after all."

"You got it, Snips."

"Thanks, Skyguy."


	6. Chapter 6

Padmé sighed, running her hand over the neat row of gowns hanging in her closet. Maybe there would be time to change after dinner. Even as the thought formed, she pushed it away. Anakin was meeting her right after the meal, and knowing her husband, he'd probably burst in during it. Pulling out two dresses, she slung them over her arm and moved to the bed. She laid them next to each other, carefully smoothing out the skirts, and took a good look at both.

The one on the left rustled softly as she straightened the sleeves. Layers of stiff silk nearly enveloped the shape of he dress, deep mahoganies giving way to deeper shades of umber and sienna. Elaborate ruffles decorated the neck and sleeves, tracing out an intricate criss-cross pattern. It was a garment designed for one purpose—to impress. And impressing was just what she needed to do at this dinner. The Kree-sai delegation were known to put great stock in formality and tradition, and she'd need to respect that if their negotiations were to be successful.

Pushing a stray hair from her forehead, she turned to the second dress. It differed in almost every conceivable way from the first. Knitted from soft wool, it had a simple, almost wineglass shape. Capped sleeves joined smoothly into a low neckline, and the bodice and skirt were all one piece. The white yarn fell into gentle ripples around her knees, transitioning to a pale blue. The skirt in front ended at her knees, but fell all the way to the floor in back. This, she knew, is what Anakin expected her to wear on their date tonight.

She sighed, staring down at the two disparate outfits. The outfit of a senator, of the outfit of a lover. For a moment, she wondered if she could have the handmaidens cut up the two garments and make one piece out of them. But no, the styles were too dissimilar. She would end up satisfying nobody.

Comping to a decision, she summoned Sabé. The handmaiden appeared an instant later, as if by magic. Padmé gestured to the gowns. "I'll be wearing these tonight."

Face still as stone, the girl ventured a question. "Both of them, senator?"

"Yes. The white one under the brown."

"Very good, ma'am." The girl lifted the dresses, and followed her mistress into the dressing room.

As Sabé gave Padmé's hair the final touches, the senator examined herself in the mirror. The two dresses were tight around the midsection, causing her slight discomfort, but she could handle it. She'd just have to make sure the train didn't slip out during dinner. The handmaiden finished, and Padmé spun slowly, studying herself from all angles.

Anakin would understand.


	7. Epilogue

The cleaning droid pushed the apartment door open, duster already whirring. _Occupant Disappeared,_ its scanner read. _Clean for new renter._

Whirring busily, the little unit set to work. The directive had no information on the former occupant of these rooms, but a little could be gleaned from the contents of the apartment itself. Podracing posters plastered the walls, and model fighters lined the shelves. The pile of unwashed laundry on the floor and the food rotting in the cooling unit suggested that the owner had either left in a hurry, or intended to return. The whole apartment had an air of careless negligence, as if whoever lived there rarely had visitors.

The droid hummed through the rooms, a vague sense of superiority adding a pleasant tone to the sound. Organics were so disorganized. Its routine was interrupted as its sensors picked up an irregularity in the ramshackle consistency of the room. It hoovered over to the corner, scanners focusing in. The neat folds stood out like a tauntaun on Tattooine to the droid's specialized programming. Extending an arm, it lifted the object in question and shook off a thin layer of dust.

The droid's circuits buzzed with idle curiosity. Turning to catch the light, it examined the careful stitching on the knitted baby blanket.


End file.
